Watching through my fingers, while you pretend a blindfold,
as we crawl through these barren lands; barren times.
Watching through my fingers, while you never rest,
as the sun only scorches only your eyes.
Fifteen years of a hopeful wander, we'd chat, we'd laugh.
Fifteen years of watching you pretend blindfold.
Fifteen years of scorch now runs you blind when,
it's when now, you stumble and you fall.
Watching, watching through my fingers, I see you cry.
Do I? Do I strech my hands and hold you still,
hold you still and pull you up?
Why did I not?
